Weathering The Storm
by Bookwrm389
Summary: Damas laughed openly as he chased the children around and wrestled in the mud with them, completely carefree when he was normally so rigid and somber. It made Jak wonder...had he been like that with his son?


_A.N. Pretty much a "just for fun" fic. There's not much more I can say about this one.  
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Weathering The Storm

The black and blue thunderheads extended from horizon to horizon, inexorable and breathtaking, laced with white lightning like the veins of some terrible beast. They rolled languidly over the foaming ocean in fantastical towers and spirals like a darker, wilder version of Spargus. The storm was almost upon them, and Jak could feel each rumble of thunder clear to his bones. Daxter shivered by his leg, all his fur standing on end, and some primal part of Jak was affected by the same instinct to seek shelter. But he remained on the rocky precipice jutting out over the crashing waves, transfixed by the display and the thrill it gave him to witness something so staggeringly powerful.

"Uh, Jak, can we go inside now?" Daxter said plaintively. "Seriously, I'll _never _understand what you like about thunderstorms."

Jak shrugged with a small, content smile. "Hard to explain."

Daxter snorted and trotted back until he was safely ensconced in someone's doorway with a salvaged tarp covering him head to toe. "Well, you have at it then! Me, I'll just sit right _here _and keep my fur nice and dry and _un_-electrocuted!"

Jak shook his head and took a moment to observe the activity in the city. The Wastelanders had been busy, closing down the market and getting the leapers under shelter and calling in the artifact runners. Mud was death to the complex parts in the vehicles, and by now Kleiver probably had all his babies under layers of tarp for protection.

But there was also a level of eagerness and anticipation to the activity. Rain was a rare thing in the desert, and that rarity made it all the more valued. Jak hadn't been aware, but the stone cisterns on the roofs of all the buildings were designed to catch rainwater and filter it to a great reservoir beneath the city from which they could draw on at need during the long dry spells. Many people had set out every spare pot and bowl they owned to catch the precious element. If a single drop was wasted, it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

The next crack of thunder broke almost directly overhead, and Jak craned to look up as the first raindrops began to fall. Within seconds the drizzle grew to a full blown torrent. It wasn't chilled like the rains in Haven, only pleasantly cool, and Jak sighed in bliss. The water soaked straight through his clothes and rinsed every trace of sand and grime from his skin and hair. He glanced back at the sound of shrieking laughter and smiled when he saw three children slinging double handfuls mud at one another. Jak could remember doing something like that with Keira back in Sandover while Daxter huddled under a palm tree frond and called them insane. For having such a dirty mouth, Daxter was a remarkably hygienic person.

Jak crossed his arms and leaned against a scrawny tree as more participants arrived from other parts of the city. Battle lines were drawn and a full-blown skirmish exploded into being that took up the entire market street. It got to the point where noncombatants attempting to circumvent the battle had to jump out of the line of fire or risk becoming a target. Their innocence was a pleasant distraction from the usual grim reality of life in the Wasteland, and Jak found himself tallying up the "kills" for each side and making pointless bets with himself on the outcome. Two young boys rushed right past him, one pursuing the other. The one being chased stopped just long enough to lob a mud grenade at his friend, which just missed his target...

...and caught Damas full in the chest, splattering all over his clothes and hair. The boys froze, mortified when they realized they'd just struck the king of Spargus. Slowly, the dreadful silence spread as more children realized what had happened and came shuffling over like condemned criminals. Damas eyed their pale faces sternly, and even Jak could admit to holding his breath for a moment.

The king smirked slowly. "How kind of you to line up so neatly for me," he remarked. Without warning, he seized the wrists of the two boys that started it all and catapulted them headfirst into the mud. The children gaped at the sputtering boys, then at Damas.

"Well, young warriors?" Damas said haughtily, hand held up in challenge. "Are you going to let me get away with that?"

Silence for a beat, and then a smattering of incredulous laughter and at least one "_Hell no, lordship!_" The battle broke out once again. A few loyal kids rushing to aid Damas, but for the most part he was an army all on his own, routinely fending off five attackers at once. And he was genuinely enjoying it, Jak realized with some amazement. Before now whenever Jak heard Damas laugh, it was always caustic and embittered, but now he laughed openly as he chased the children around and wrestled in the mud with them, completely carefree when he was normally so rigid and somber.

It made Jak wonder...had he been like that with his son? Not a ruler of a city of exiles, not a battle-hardened Wastelander, but simply a father playing with his child?

The sight of Damas partaking in the ridiculous game had spurred a few adult Wastelanders to invite themselves into the chaos. Jak bit his lip, his pride holding him back at first, but it was only a matter of time before the little mute boy in his heart won out. Kneeling, he unlaced his boots and set them aside along with his goggles. His gun and Precursor armor had already been left in his quarters so there was nothing else to hold him back from rushing into the fray, bare feet squelching in the soaked sand and bringing another wave of nostalgia.

A flash of lightning illuminated his path, and Jak spotted Damas' profile just ahead. In one motion, he leaned down to scoop up some mud and chucked it with all his might. His missile caught Damas squarely in the shoulder, and the king spun around to locate his assailant. Jak couldn't hold back a feral grin at the surprised blink he received and crooked an insolent finger. _Bring it._

Slowly, Damas returned his grin, eyes alight. "You dare challenge me?" he called in mock seriousness. "I won't hold back."

"I don't expect you to," Jak shot back.

"Good!" Damas exclaimed and flung his own clump of mud right into Jak's hair. Laughing, Jak took cover behind an abandoned stall and caught the arms of two kids to recruit them to his cause—Operation Take Damas Down. But when the three of them emerged, they were immediately bombarded by four others whom Damas had enlisted as his own militia. Jak was covered head to toe in a matter of seconds and quickly put his focus on finding higher ground so his squad could defend themselves. More volunteers appeared from nowhere when the children called on their friends to help push back Damas' forces. In a matter of minutes, everyone had taken a side, though alliances switched with alarming frequency and Jak had a hard time telling friend from enemy thanks to all the mud. He was positive he got solid hits on Damas at least three more times, and he was just as positive that Damas got him back nearly twice as often.

He couldn't have said how long the battle lasted. It had to have been at least an hour, maybe two. The worst of the storm passed over the city and the rain let up, and that was about the time most of the kids ran out of energy and collapsed all over the place to catch their collective breath. Jak spat out a mouthful of dirt and took a seat on a nearby boulder, panting as he surveyed the damage. The ground all over the market was so churned up it looked like an earthquake had struck. He ran a hand through his matted hair with a grimace and turned at the sound of a wry chuckle.

"I have a feeling half the water we collected will go to scrubbing children and foolish adults now," Damas informed him. He picked up a bowl someone had left out and used the water to rinse off his face. "Go on, no one will mind. It's what they're there for."

"Does this happen every time it rains?" Jak asked curiously as he picked out a small pot and poured the entire contents over his head.

"Something like it does," Damas replied with a gleam in his eyes. "Two years ago, it was some kind of mud sliding game down the steepest walkways in the city. The year before that, a fight similar to this, but they had time to get creative and build fortresses and slingshots."

"That must have been a hell of a battle," Jak commented. A slingshot, now _there _was an idea. "I'll bet you were leading the charge then too, right?"

Damas stilled. "No, not that year," he said softly. "That...was the year my son disappeared."

At the hidden pain in his voice, Jak looked away awkwardly, wondering if he should let the matter lie. But something compelled him to ask, "Did you ever do this with him?"

Damas shook his head with a sad smile as he watched the other children. "No, he was far too young. But I know he would have loved it once he was older. He had a spectacular talent for finding trouble and making a mess of things when I was looking the other way. I miss that...but in a way, _all_ of these children are mine, so sometimes that makes up for it. It's enough."

Enough, but only just. Those were the missing words. Jak knew the feeling well. Although Spargus and its inhabitants had shown him more acceptance and even kindness than he had known in years, it would never be Sandover. But still, Jak thought as he watched Damas scrub the mud from the children's faces and send them back to their parents, maybe one day it would be enough for him too. Just enough that he could quit pining and learn to start living again.

"_Pew!_" Daxter exclaimed at his side. He made a dramatic show of holding his nose and leaning as far away from Jak as possible. "You need a bath, buddy! I am going nowhere _near _that shoulder until it's been scrubbed, disinfected and polished to a shine. Precursors, will ya look at this mess! Does _no one _realize that someone's gonna have to clean all this up? Well, _I _ain't volunteering! That should be up to the culprits who caused it, and yes, I'm lookin' at _you_, mister hero! I swear, what _is _it with you and getting up to your ears in—"

_Splat!_

A hunk of mud smacked Daxter right in the chest with enough force to send the ottsel sprawling on his back. Daxter gaped at his ruined fur in horrified indignation, one eyebrow twitching dangerously, and Jak looked up at Damas in surprise and not a little delight. The king flexed his wrist shrewdly. "Hm, a little low that time. I was aiming for his mouth."

"Allow me," Jak snickered, reaching for a fresh patch. Daxter spluttered and fled on all fours, wailing at the top of his lungs about bleaching his fur and leaving ottsel droppings in their canteens. Jak couldn't be bothered with the details. He and Damas were too busy laughing as they set the rest of the children on their feet and began to salvage their home from whatever had been left in the storm's wake.


End file.
